


The Redemption of the Blond

by versions91



Series: Love and Fidelity of the Feline Kind [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cat POV, Happy Ending, M/M, Much Ado About Nothing, Post-SPECTRE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versions91/pseuds/versions91
Summary: As told by the Duke.(Or: After Bond came back, Q’s cats meddle to enable Bond’s reconciliation with Q.)





	The Redemption of the Blond

**Author's Note:**

> For my lovely readers who commented and said they wanted more—Azteka and pdameron—and, as always, BoredPsychopath_JC. 
> 
> Please do read the first in the series, [The Tale of the Traitorous Blond's Surrender to his King](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8055712), to get acquainted with the cats! 
> 
> Beta'ed by [SvengoolieCat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat/pseuds/SvengoolieCat) and [Somedrunkpirate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate)—thank you so, so much for the stellar beta jobs and encouragements. <3 <3 All mistakes remain mine.

Good day, fair child. I'm afraid you've come at the wrong hour. The Grand Prince is retired in his quarters; we mustn’t disturb his repose. Believe me, I hold your best interest and … safety at heart. Do send a messenger for another time. 

Well, if you must hear it now, what would you like to know? I'm no tale-spinner, mind, but your wish shall be indulged. Since the Blond has returned, a mist has been lifted from the kingdom. His Majesty’s spirits are much restored, and we’re blessed with many a sunshine day. 

Is His Majesty _betrothed_? Sirrah, what a question! Now, now, hurry to your husbandry!

  


* * *

  


“Misha—” I sing to the sweet Prince who lies curled up in his corner bed. Stirring, he stretches, shakes and stands, his graceful frame—fashioned by God’s own hand certainly—held high.

“You did not address me so. Good evening to you too, Duke.” He gives a curt nod, unfocused eyes betraying fogginess in his mind.

“ _Velikiy Knyaz_ , I pray you, wound me not. I come with the commoners’ enquiries. Their imagination spreads like fire in hay.” 

“The idle do little but talk.” He preens the fur around his wrists. “Carry it truth or consequence, and to whom does it relate?” 

“No other than the Blond.” 

There, suddenly, goes the feathered sound of his paw dropped.

“The brute.” He scoffs. A scowl barely forms on his profile, before a quick tilt of his nose deprives me of the view. “If only there’s better company. The bald one’s passable.”

“You’re not serious.” I make two steps forward. “Surely you see His Majesty has greatly improved in happiness.” 

“Happiness I see, yet injury too I once saw, and feel it as if it were yesterday.” He retorts sharply. “The Blond broke not flesh and bones, but breached honour, trust. See him come and go without a care, giving no surety other than his bankrupt name." As he lays the indictment, he moves away to climb onto the arm of the Bench, his measured voice increasingly strained in passion. Beneath the windowpane, he raises his gaze towards the pallid sky. “If his nature be fixed in changeability, what is today’s happiness worth against the morrow’s misery?” 

Only then he turns, white-hot fury in eyes aflame, and with a wordless stare sears his pain onto my chest. 

When he drops his eyes in half a second, his voice too lowers. “Lest grief befall us doubled and beyond, I forget it not.”

O, wretched heart! 

“Good, gentle prince.” In urgency I hop onto the Bench to close our distance, now a tail apart. “If the Blond proves to be false, let him be condemned by eternal justice. Yet, banish not now belief, banish not prospects of joy. Do not unjustly deny his Majesty, and with so, the Prince yourself.”

A flush of lightheadedness courses over me, as if we stood on mountains we climbed without knowing, and were henceforth exposed to a thousand-feet drop. Whiskers tingling, I step to the Prince’s side and conclude my plea.

“If it’s foolish to believe, let us be fools together, and lay our wager on the future.”

Green eyes glisten upon the trickling of his thoughts. His frame seems to slacken, like a small part of him has been unwound. However tentatively, he is, perchance, persuaded. The insight makes me forget myself: I find my paw on his worried forehead. 

To my surprise, he neither snarls nor startles at the touch. Stilled, he closes his eyes in all the world's quietness, save the beating of my heart, the sound of my unspoken promise.

  


* * *

  


This the Bard has taught us: what better to inspire love than the very idea that one is beloved? So I shall let the Blond's own fancy suggest the idea, and let it take hold. 

  


* * *

  


The Blond is at the kitchen counter; I position myself behind the backrest of the Bench. The comfort from Scotland’s finest wool throw nearly lulls me to sleep, but I duly remind myself of the mission at hand and fortify my will. 

By nightfall, the click of the Mauer Tor signals his Majesty’s return. Hark!

“Q.” 

“You… went through my things.” His Majesty must have seen what the Blond has found.

“The chubby one keeps bumping its head on this drawer. I thought I'd find cat food.” The Blond chuckles. “I also thought Q Branch doesn't go for this sort of thing anymore. ’m chuffed.” 

The Blond’s choice of word is wholly objectionable, but I stay on task and listen.

"I…” His Majesty stumbles, his lips moving haplessly, before he regains a regal tone. “You can take it now. I don't have to tell you to be careful with it, do I?”

A weighed beat passes. "You don't."

The Blond restores the leather penholder in the drawer and raises two hands in surrender. “It’s not meant to be found. Sorry.” 

Surprised, His Majesty blinks forcefully before shrugging. “Cat food. Did you find it?”

“No, but the cat left me alone.” The Blond slots his fingers together. “Why did you keep it?”

By then, His Majesty has busied himself with an extensive survey of our food supply, sending cupboards clacking. “Cat food is under the sink, but as long as the auto-feeder is running properly, they shouldn’t be hungry.” He opens and closes the cold storage. “Out of soy milk. You started drinking it?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he grabs the keys on the counter and, as he disappears at the Mauer Tor, says. “Don’t overfeed them. You’re not the only one who’s out of shape.“

  


* * *

  


Is it not harder to make than to break peace? Forgive me if my interference works slower than our previous foray. You see, my plan requires a second, symmetrical step: a suggestion of the like to His Majesty the King, a far trickier task.

  


* * *

  


“Good prince, lend me your true opinion. Have I gained?”

“Much in age and little in wisdom.” The Prince answers immediately, before he looks at me with amusement from the arm of the Bench, where he sits in peaceful rest. “For which do you seek my view? Forgive me for wanting a little specificity."

Tempted as I am to protest against his abuse and joust with ready words, I must seize this opening to recruit him in my endeavour.

“When I return, I may lose a pound from sheer fright.” Turning slowly, I speak in a wistful tone while maintaining articulation. It’s a terribly delicate balance to strike. 

“Return?” In an instant, he leaves his spot and walks a half-circle before me, blocking my path. “Whence?” 

“The mission of my life, Mikhail.” 

In earnest, I explain the chain of affection between His Majesty, the Blond and ourselves, and hereat the best hand to play. 

“By troth, you,” he breathes out, “are out of your mind.”

"It's as effective as it's adventurous, you must agree."

Unfailingly I take pleasure in putting new colours of incredulity on him, and even more so in impressing him with my idea. With brows pinched, his mind makes quick work spinning. Lest it be overwrought with concern,, I hasten to add, "Won't fare too far. His Majesty must have methods to find me quickly." 

“It’ll only bring needless worry to His Majesty. Besides,” he glances down in hesitation, before levelling his gaze with mine. “You haven’t… been outside. How would you know the ways to safety?”

“By my whiskers, diverse powers of observation and navigation, practical wisdom and a little bit of luck.“ 

Just then, the Prince’s quizzing eyes widen in a moment of clarity, and recognition quickly morphs to something like resignation. 

“That’s not what you planned, is it.” He sighs, much too dramatically.

There, he knows me to be a knave: I give him an apologetic smile, but as I behold his disapproving acquiescence, my heart is filled with unapologetic glee. 

"Come now, let us rest plenty before journeying tomorrow."

  


* * *

  


“You little bastards.” The Blond mutters behind the tub and fixes the tap. “Worse than children.”

“Wouldn’t trust you with a child.” His Majesty says, while leaning against the doorframe of the baths, holding the Prince over his right shoulder.

“The flat was locked when I left. Are they trained to break out?” 

The question earns a true, ringing laugh. “No. Just clever devils.”

His Majesty approaches, sits on the tub facing the Blond, and quickly put firm hands around the Prince's restless body to brush long soothing strokes.

“For all your charm, Mikhail still doesn’t like you.” 

The Blond hums. “The Duke is alright with me. Aren’t you?” 

Forsooth, he's not a bad masseuse. I let him run his fingers through my coat, while he wets it with a spurting metal snake, a detested device suffered for the sake of the present cause. Soft sounds of water falling and the Prince’s faint grumbles surround us, until His Majesty sets loose a long-begotten question. 

“Why are you here?” 

The Blond turns the water off; I slip away and leap onto the tub’s far edge.

“Not saying you’re not welcomed. But, what are you doing here, Bond?”

Dripping water counts the seconds as we wait. We have concerted this singular opportunity for the Blond to declare his loyalty, conspired and contrived much in assistance: only he himself can confess what lies in his heart, and now or never shall he speak verily. Godspeed!

“At first, I needed somewhere to go, someone I trust.” The Blond pauses to towel his hands, now clasped on his knees, and smiles ruefully. “And then, I fell into it. Pimlico, the cats, drinking soy, living with you.”

He turns fully to His Majesty with an open, solemn face. “I’d like to be with you, if you’d have me. I’m sorry.”

 _Voila._ I steal a scheming glance towards the Prince, who returns it from His Majesty’s lap in bated breath. 

“Hold on.” His Majesty steps out of the baths and returns swiftly. 

“When you left, I couldn’t give it to someone else, I couldn’t throw it away. I never stopped hoping, even though I have no idea what to do with it, what to do with you... I hoped I’d see you again.”

A smile breaks through His Majesty’s visage, dazzling like the sun that dispels all clouds, before His Majesty extends one arm to offer the Blond the penholder at last. 

“Here’s your retirement gift, old man.” 

To joyous cheer of the Kingdom, His Majesty pardons the contrite. Graced by such love, the Blond traces his embossed initials on the leather and purrs. 

“If you would let me, I’d like to claim something else as my gift.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have I shamelessly turned Q’s cats into a mirror for my OTP in another fandom? Yes, alas, yes I have.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments mean everything. You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://monologues91.tumblr.com/). x


End file.
